Angela Henderson

(Edinburgh , UK)

The Golden House

There is a house, all white and golden,
With huge high gates, that rarely open.
You enter the garden, the grass a clear green,
With flower beds scattered, maintained and clean.
The front door opens, inside I peer,
I see a staircase, a crystal chandelier.
The stairs are steep, I cannot climb,
Must leave to go, it's not my time.
One day I'll return and enter within,

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